With Love

When you left I burned everything you gave me except the pen gold-rimmed with rich black ink I was afraid of how the fire would take to it so instead I used it to scribble your name in the flames, to sketch tree veins on my wall they brought me inexplicable joy, to write a letter to my grandmother six pages of ambiguous sentimentality, to lend to my little sister she drew gleeful goldfish and a woman with pigtails, to write flowery poetry in stern, solid black, to my surprise the pen was no longer yours to give; It was mine and I gave it to my grandmother, ravenous flames my little sister and ivory walls myself You had given it to me with good-bye and I gave it away again and again with love